


a thousand trials

by Hermia



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Sexual Content, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermia/pseuds/Hermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>extra bits and pieces of ian and mickey's relationship -- extended cuts and deleted scenes -- beginning in s1 and continuing through to s3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the first time

Ian's body was aching all over. His back from being picked up and thrown against the wall, his hip from the bookcase, his shoulder from the dresser. Peering up at Mickey from between the bastard's legs was a lot more difficult when he was still reeling from being tossed around.

It wasn't until he heard the clank of the tire iron hitting the floor that his eyesight really focused on what was in front of him. Mickey's crotch. More specifically, his dick twitching in his dirty sweatpants.

Even hours later, Ian would swear time stopped when he met Mickey's eyes again. Not in a romantic way – fuck that. If there was one thing Ian had fantasized about ad nauseum, it was converting one of the neighborhood's alpha straights.

Who apparently wasn't all that straight.

Ian's tongue passed over his lips and suddenly Mickey's shirt was on the floor and he was moving off of him, letting him shrug off his jacket only to nearly rip Ian's shirt over his head. Ian didn't even have a chance to take off his gloves before he was pulling Mickey's pants down around his thighs, then off entirely.

It all happened so quickly, Ian still had the fucking gloves on by the time Mickey tugging him down on top of him.

His cock was caught under Mickey's ass, sliding between his soft cheeks and the rumpled bed sheets. Ian let out a pleased groan just as the guy under him smirked.

Tugging off his gloves one at a time with his teeth, Ian propped himself up on both hands afterwards, hovering over Mickey's face, breathing already loud and ragged.

“Lube.” It was an order, not a question. He rolled his hips forward and moaned again. “Seriously. You have five seconds.”

Mickey's laugh was low enough to catch in his throat, hinging on disbelief even as he reached for the lube half-hidden in the clutter on his nightstand. He knocked it over once and barely missed the second time, only to hear the plastic bottle hit the floor.

“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me.” 

Letting his leg fall off the bed, Mickey kicked the bottle back towards his open hand. The movement wasn't graceful, but it was precise. And when he grabbed the lube, he did so with a tight fist. He guided his leg back up onto the bed and handed over the bottle with a lopsided, almost prideful grin, spreading his thighs as he pulled himself up onto his elbows.

Mickey's smile was contagious; Ian was grinning right along with him even as he sat back on his heels, squirting the silky liquid onto his hand. He had enough experience – thank god – to know his dick was above average and you don't want to just rush into sticking something up someone's ass, but he was still a teenager. A teenager who was about to get one hell of a sexual fantasy fulfilled.

Ian watched Mickey's face go slack as he rubbed two slick fingers around his asshole. That look alone could have frozen him, eyes shut and mouth open invitingly. It was intoxicating seeing him so turned on, and the low noises he murmured made Ian's dick even harder.

Even with his cock rubbing against Mickey's thigh, Ian was focused on the guy under him. Two fingers pressed in instead of one, but they were slender and experienced, easing Mickey open with as much speed as Ian could manage without hurting him. 

Mickey's breath stuttered in his chest, and his fingers curled tighter around the edge of his mattress, fingertips digging in until they ached. Passing his tongue over his bottom lip, he opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Where someone might think they were moving too fast, Mickey didn't think they were going fast enough. That thought pushed his thighs farther apart and his hips farther up off of the bed for a better angle.

On the heels of a groaned curse, Mickey looked at Ian, his cheeks splotchy with color. He looked like he was enjoying it. Sounded like he was enjoying it. Of course he'd have something to say anyway. “Why'd you use so much fuckin' lube? Christ.”

“Because you're --” Ian's breath caught in his throat; it took all that he had not to let out a moan far too loud for someone who wasn't even inside him yet. “Because you're fucking tight!” He bit on his bottom lip, fingertips seeking Mickey's prostate, pressing and massaging in different areas until he was making the guy writhe.

“Just wait another minute, alright?” Ian spread his fingers a little more, working them in and out at a faster pace. “You'll thank me later.” He paused, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, just think of it as not having to explain a limp.” 

Arching his back until his elbows were all but buried in the mattress, Mickey pressed his heel into the small of Ian's back to push him closer. “Stop bein' so fucking loud,” he muttered, his voice strained. They weren't alone. He didn't know how many people were still hanging around after the shitty excuse for a welcome home party, but he knew they weren't alone. 

“Shit,” Mickey ground out before he could even take another shallow breath, his hips jerking up before rolling. He wanted to tell Ian he hadn't expected him to be any good at it. Most guys his age didn't know what the hell they were doing. The only mistake he'd made was currently warm and dripping over his ass. “Just – fuck me already.”

Ian didn't tease. Even if he wanted to, the ragged need in Mickey's voice and the inviting spread of his thighs would have changed his mind completely.

Sliding his fingers out of Mickey's ass, he smeared what lube remained on his fingers over his cock, hissing through his teeth as he stroked himself. His cock was hot and sensitive and needed to be buried deep inside Mickey about five minutes ago.

Keeping one hand up by Mickey's head, Ian held his cock with the other, lining himself up properly and pressing forward, holding it steady until a few inches were inside. He then held on to Mickey's hip, a bit too tightly, letting out a too-loud grunt that bled into a much quieter moan when he finally had to stop half-way in, breath heavy and eyes clamped shut. 

Instead of a moan, Mickey gave him a low, shaky breath and his teeth snagged on his own bottom lip. Still up on his elbows, their faces were close together, and Ian's look of total concentration mixed with the red in his cheeks made Mickey's dick twitch just as much as his (surprisingly huge) cock in his ass.

“Fuuuuckin' right,” he said under his breath, punctuating the groan with a quiet grunt. Heels digging into his sheets instead of Ian's back, Mickey pressed downwards, his eagerness to be filled up eclipsing his desire to have Ian do all the work. Dropping down from his elbows and onto his back, he arched it just enough to return his hips to where they'd been. “Get all the way in me. Stop taking your time; I'm not a fuckin' pussy.” A pause; a sharp breath. “Stretch me out. I like it.”

Ian grunted, jaw twitching as he held back a moan. “Fuck! Fine!” Rising up onto his knees, he pawed over Mickey's hips, finding a good grip on his slick skin. His blue eyes flicked over Mickey's body, focusing on his heaving chest and wet, open mouth and just when Mickey was about to do it for him, Ian finally slammed home with no warning.

There was a voice in the back of his head telling him that they needed to be quiet, but Mickey was too tight and too fucking hot for him to listen. His hips thrust back and forth quickly, smacking their flesh together, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Mickey's hips. Ian grunted with every other push inward, eyes focused on where their bodies joined, watching as his cock slid in balls deep, out until the tip was the only thing inside, and then in again. 

Mickey grabbed onto Ian's shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscle and freckled skin until he couldn't grip him any tighter without hurting himself or breaking skin. He knew Ian was being too loud, but he couldn't find the words to tell him to shut up. So he just sucked hard on his bottom lip and took it. He took every rough thrust in stride, reveling in the way his entire bed shifted when Ian moved and the too-full sensation that made him burn all over when Ian pushed all the way inside him.

“Nnh, yeah,” he groaned, one hand leaving Ian's shoulders to reach down and wrap around his own erection. The stretching didn't make his hard on wilt so much as swell, and he spat out a curse as his fingers curled tight around the head of it, stroking once before the pleasure drove him to pause in order to catch his breath.

When Mickey seized around him, Ian had to slow down, movement dying down to a steady roll as his brows cinched over his nose. Staying power had never really been an issue for him before, but he could already feel the telltale twist in his abdomen.

“Shit, Mickey,” he moaned, pulling his cock out for a brief moment and ramming it in again with one stroke, headboard banging against the wall. “Nn, fuck, you're tight.”

This time, when he began working his hips properly again, he leaned forward, hands on either side of Mickey's head, looking down at his face as he rolled forward, back arching as far back as his body would allow, giving his thrusts the depth he wanted. He looked down between them again, watching as his stomach rubbed up and down against Mickey's cock, then back up again. His eyes never met Mickey's, but that wasn't out of a desire not to, he was just too focused on not cumming. And seeing Mickey's face when he's getting thoroughly fucked was the exact opposite of helpful. 

Mickey wasn't interested in helping. If anything, he wanted to make Ian cum hard and a lot faster than he was, so whatever help he did offer was to achieve those ends.

The hand on Ian's shoulder moved to the back of his neck; the other, he jerked out from between them in order to feel Ian's stomach and the friction that drove him to thrust his hips and moan. Hitching a leg up, he tensed his thighs and shifted downward, rocking Ian deeper into him. It'd been a while since he had sex with anyone on his back. He was used to standing up and bending over. The aches from their fight burned now more than anything, and he found himself panting right along with Ian.

“Fuckin' – mnh, just fuckin' cum already.”

Ian said nothing. The wrinkle in his brow deepened, his hands clenched into fists, gasping with every movement. Mickey met him thrust for thrust, his hot, hard cock searing the skin of his stomach. The desire to bring him off drew Ian down closer until their sweat-slicked chests were rubbing against each other.

Mickey smelt like exertion, beer, and cigarettes. Basically like everyone else in their neighborhood, but this made his mouth water, this made him go down further until his tongue and lips were dragging across the dirty skin of Mickey's throat.

After a minute or two passed, though, he was left panting heavily against Mickey's Adam's apple, the focused quiet he had adopted devolving into strained groans and grunts of effort, desperate for his own release even more than the guy under him.

When he finally came, it was surprisingly silent, more a shuddering groan by Mickey's ear than a shout, flushed cheek pressed against his skin. Even as he filled Mickey up with his cum, he continued moving, thrusting eagerly to get every possible bit of pleasure out of his orgasm, pressing his hard stomach down against his cock as he did so. 

Ian was heavy. Not heavy enough to keep Mickey from breathing; heavy enough to make him even harder, the pressure forcing him to thrust against his stomach and moan as Ian's movements slowed. Minutes later, Mickey groaned and bucked his hips almost helplessly, the friction getting him close and closer before he felt the first string of hot cum trapped between them.

Along the way, a hand tangled in the short red hair at the back of Ian's head, gripping at them as best he could as he slowed down until he stopped, too. Each breath was labored, a strained pant that was made even more difficult to inhale pinned beneath him.

“Get off,” Mickey said, low but laced with a chuckle. A hand moved to his face, scrubbing over his features before running through his hair. “I always thought that 'muscle weighs more than fat' thing was bullshit.”

Ian chuckled, too, lips twisted in a small half-smile as he moved to lay next to him. He exhaled, smoothing a hand over his hair when he finally flopped back against the pillow.

“So Mandy told you?” Ian said after a few moments of silence. His voice was rough, but quiet. “I'm not that obvious.” He paused, brows twitching. “I'm not, right? Because hitting eighteen is an important goal to me.” 

“Nah,” Mickey replied. Sniffing, he scratched at the bridge of his nose and rested against his wall. The posters that covered it were cool against his back, cool enough to get a relieved sigh out of him. “I thought Mandy was just fuckin' with me for a while, but... evidently not, right?”

Ian looked thoughtful for a moment before he glanced at Mickey, that half-smile from before coming back. “Nope. Known it for a couple years now.” He stretched, groaning as he arched his back, following it with a twist of his spine, a few audible pops taking place before he laid back down. “What about you?” 

All Mickey did was shrug, scratching over his stomach and focusing on the dingy white tiled ceiling above his head and not the still-flushed guy at his side.

“Don't really see the point in saying it out loud with what just happened.”

Ian let out a bark of laughter and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I kind of got that you're gay, Mick. I was just wondering how long you've known.” Chuckling under his breath, he nudged Mickey with his shoulder. “You don't need to get pissy just because I'm not fucking you anymore.” 

Mickey laughed at that and shook his head. “I dunno,” he admitted after waiting for the question to process, working his jaw around the words. That much was the truth. He didn't know when he realized it, and he was still waiting on fully accepting the fact. “Showers at juvie, maybe. Watching Terminator too many times and figuring out I didn't wanna fuck Sarah Connor.”

Ian was just about ready to tease Mickey over obviously wanting to get bent over by Schwarzenegger when there was a loud noise in the kitchen. It scared both of them – Ian felt his heart racing from the sudden jolt of adrenaline – but it was Mickey who started scrambling.

It wasn't until Ian heard the deep voice of Terry that he understood why Mickey was so insistent on getting them covered by the blanket.

He focused on the ceiling as the floorboards creaked under Mickey's father's weight, holding the blankets up to his chin. It wasn't until he was in the bathroom that Ian noticed Mickey's hands were trembling. More than that, he had a white-knuckle grip on the rough, crimson fabric. His breathing was quick and shallow. Textbook panic attack.

“You look like a couple of faggots,” Mickey's dad had grumbled out before slamming the door on his way out.

Ian seemed to be the only one who was relieved. 

After taking a breath or two, he propped himself up on his elbow, smiling sweetly in Mickey's direction as his fingers curled around the boy's forearm. “Hey,” Ian murmured. “He's gone; you're okay.” 

Mickey jerked his arm out of Ian's grip without a thought, throwing the blanket off of them and climbing out even more quickly than he'd gotten onto his back. His throat tightened as he bent over to tug on his underwear, the muscles in his thighs aching and a tell-tale warmth leaking out of his ass.

“Fuck.” Grabbing for his sweatpants, he stepped into them and pulled them up haphazardly around his waist before glancing over at Ian. His stomach twisted, chin puckering when he set his jaw. But he didn't say anything. His dad said it all. Then he pulled on his shirt, turning his back to Ian again once he had it over his head, moving away from the bed and closer to the dresser, closer to the thing Ian came to get in the first place.

Ian's brows slanted upward in concern, but he didn't voice it. He wanted to. His heart ached seeing anyone like that, but it wasn't as if they had a moment, right? This wasn't surprising. It was just sex.

He just hadn't grown out of the phase of caring for people he fucked yet.

Mickey paced around the room while he dressed. The gun he had stopped by to retrieve was on the bed before Ian could even get his shirt on.

There wasn't a fight. Mickey didn't try to take the gun back or make a fuss. He didn't say anything. His jaw was tight and his eyes were distant and Ian knew that look because he'd worn in a million times.

I'm scared, it said. This fucking house is a deathtrap.

Ian understood, and that feeling of kinship drove him to do something stupid. He walked over and tried to kiss him, tried to indicate that he wanted this to happen again, that he wasn't scared, even if Mickey was.

Mickey threatened to cut his tongue out and left.

There was nothing he could do. You learn that lesson fast with addict parents. There's no helping someone who doesn't want it, even if fear is the only thing blocking that person.

So Mickey was just one more queer from the hood keeping things under wraps until they can bust out. It wasn't like Ian had any place to judge – Mandy was his beard, and he was going to keep it that way. But that really wasn't what he was doing. He didn't care that Mickey wouldn't be his boyfriend. Ian didn't even want one. He just wanted to keep seeing him.

He was a good lay.


	2. the second time

Fucking Mickey Milkovich once hadn't been “enough” for Ian, but he was pretty convinced that was all he was going to get.

His mind went from remembering every little detail of the sex, to the short conversation afterwards, to the way Mickey panicked when his father came through. Sometimes he focused on one more than the other, sometimes all three. Regardless, he kept telling himself that it was a lost cause anyway.

He hadn't expected Mickey to show up at closing a couple days later.

He _definitely_ hadn't expected him not to steal anything.

All it took was a look and Ian was guiding him behind the booze and drinks and bending him over a table.

Ian had done this dozens of times with Kash, but it never been this good. Kash was quiet and reeked of guilt and wasn't always responsive because of it. Mickey, on the other hand, was _loud_ when he knew he could be. Grunts and moans and encouraging, dirty words that made Ian's cheeks flush with excitement. Despite the fear of being outed, he was eager to get fucked and that made Ian harder than he'd ever been before.

It took them longer than before; the frantic, brutal fucking of their first time was exchanged for something slower. Not for any emotional reason. They just had the luxury of time, and Ian was able to angle his hips better, focus on using his hips in the slow, rough thrusts he specialized in. He used less lube, pressed Mickey's face down against the cool metal, and made him cum twice before he finally came inside him.

Afterglow wasn't really something Ian was familiar with until Mickey. Maybe he was still relishing in the fact he was fucking one of neighborhood's premiere douchebags and making him beg for more while he was doing it. Whatever it was, it kept him flushed even in the cold room.

“I, uh, didn't expect to see you again...” Ian knew he was grinning, he just couldn't stop himself.

Mickey rubbed the back of his hand over a flushed cheek. His chest shuddered with a labored breath as he let his hands fall to tug his pants back up around his hips. Sucking on his bottom lip before biting on it, he twisted around until he was looking Ian in the face. “You fuck like that, and you think I'd let it be a one time thing?”

Ian laughed as he tugged his shirt back on. “Maybe?” He shrugged as he zipped up his fly. “I figured you'd either beat the shit out of me or ignore me.” Pausing, Ian rubbed his elbow, hitching his shoulders up once more. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure, whatever,” Mickey replied, his shoulder rolling upwards in a shrug of his own. 

When Ian turned to grab for the first thing he could off of the shelf, Mickey tugged his t-shirt out from where it was caught beneath the waist of his jeans. “You're good at it,” he continued, planting his hands on the table before hoisting himself up onto it. “I'm not gonna screw with a good thing.”

Ian passed Mickey a beer with a small smile before sliding up on the table with him, bringing his foot up along with him so he could rest his chin on his knee.  


“So... you're gonna come by more often?” He covered his hand with his shirt to twist off the bottle cap of his own beer, letting it fall to the floor afterwards. “You don't have to wait until closing. As long as Kash isn't here, I can make time for you.” 

“You can... _make time for me_?” Mickey arched a brow as he twisted off his cap with bare fingers. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he chugged a third of the beer before letting the bottle slump between his knees. “I'm flattered, Gallagher, but whatever you think this is, it's not. Just 'cause I want you in me, doesn't mean I wanna be around you more than I need to be.”

“Yeah, I know.” It was a lie, but Ian managed to keep his voice steady. If there was one thing he was good at besides topping, it was making people believe he was something he wasn't. “I was just saying you could come by whenever you wanted to get laid. You don't have to wait 'til _now_.” He flashed a smile after taking a swig of beer. “It's been a long day; you still haven't gotten my A-game.” 

Mickey laughed at that. It was hard for him to imagine Ian's 'A-game' when he'd never been so thoroughly fucked in his entire life.

He passed his beer into his other hand to rub the condensation off on his thigh, fingers flexing a little before resting on the table instead. “A-game, huh? So what's that like? Give me all the details so I know what I'm getting into.”

“Just... better?” Ian looked away when he felt his cheeks heat up. “I can, um, go for longer when I'm not really tired. I had ROTC training earlier, too.”  


He had no idea how to do this. Mickey had laid out a slew of dirty talk Ian had only heard in the occasional porn he was able to watch, but he was still on the shy side. But being with Mickey made him feel confident. For some reason.  


“I was too tired to really keep up a good pace,” he explained, picking at the label on his bottle with his thumbnail. His eyes went from the glass, to Mickey, to the beer again. “Sometimes I... bite a little. Y'know, spank and stuff like that. If time isn't an issue, I'd wanna make you cum before I got in you.” Ian bit on his bottom lip, pressing his cold beer to his cheek before taking a drink from it.  


“Plus, when I'm tired, I'm impatient. And that means I can't handle teasing or anything, which I can be pretty good at.” A bubble of nervous laughter left him. “Jesus, I can't believe I just said all that.” 

“Shiiit,” Mickey muttered with a chuckle of disbelief. He hadn't expected anything like this from Ian Gallagher. Even when they were damn near tearing each others's clothes off, he expected a clumsy top. He expected him to cum too fast or be too gentle. He _definitely_ expected a little dick. So only asses make assumptions; he never said he was anything but.

Rolling his head in Ian's direction, a wide, crooked smile tugged his lips apart. He was still flushed, cheeks mottled red even in the middle of a refrigerator. “Kitty's got claws. I like.”

“No point in doing something if you're not gonna do it well, right?” Ian chuckled, looking away from Mickey briefly only to glance back with his chin tilted down. “Still working on it. Guess you _inspire_ me.” 

“Fuckin' right.” Mickey grinned a shade wider before finishing off his beer, setting the empty bottle down between him and Ian. He considered jumping down and getting another, but that would mean moving, which was something he just didn't feel like doing. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater and curled his shoulders inward, leaning forward with his feet dangling inches above the floor. “It's about time you got a positive influence. Feels good to give back.”

Ian took another drink of beer, too, but he still had half the bottle left and offered the rest to Mickey, running his hand over his red hair when the guy next to him took the bottle. “Do I need to know anything else? I can't kiss you, we aren't dating... I'd like to keep my tongue in my mouth if it's not allowed in yours.” 

Mickey looked at him with the beer to his lips, staring for a long moment before shrugging and swallowing a large gulp. “I don't have any fuckin' rules. I just don't wanna kiss you, and we're not dating. That's it.”

“Okay.” He didn't sound disappointed. Or relieved. Or anything, really. “I just like knowing my boundaries.” Ian wrapped his arms around his leg, resting his cheek on his knee, keeping his eyes on Mickey. “You ready to go? I can stick around for awhile if you want...” 

“You kickin' me out?” Mickey laughed under his breath before sniffing and setting Ian's bottle down next to his own. When Ian opened his mouth to protest, Mickey held up his hands, cutting him off as he hopped down off of the table, surprisingly nimble for someone whose ass had been pounded within the last hour. “I get it. You got Twinkies and cup-a-soup to sell. Don't let me hold you up.”

“You don't have to go,” Ian muttered, even as Mickey was making his way out of the refrigerator. “I'm closing tonight. It's no big deal.” He winced. “Sorry. I sound kind of desperate. I just-- I'm _not_ kicking you out. That's all.” 

Mickey turned on his heel, the fingers of one hand curled around the doorknob. His expression gave away his thought processes in a second – stay and convince Ian to get on him again or leave. It took a while and a few tilts of his head before he twisted the door open. But rather than leaving, he braced himself between the door and the frame, jerking his head to the side to get Ian to leave with him.

“If I'm stayin', it's not gonna be in the fuckin' fridge. Come on.”

Ian's smile was broad enough to flash his teeth. He quickly checked the register, shut off the lights, and locked the gate before following Mickey where ever he was leading him, just a few steps behind and not minding a bit. 


	3. the walk home

Mickey didn't like asking questions.

Asking questions meant you were curious. Curiosity meant you gave a shit. He'd spent his whole life and the past two weeks convincing himself he didn't. Breaking that basic truth about himself wasn't something he wanted to screw around with.

But there he was, walking down the street towards Ian's house, halfway into a wild cherry Slurpee, asking questions and giving a shit.

“So how long it take bossman to fall on your dick?”

Ian rolled his eyes, shoving his hands further into his pockets. “How can you drink that?” he deflected. “It's probably going to start snowing soon and you've got a Slurpee.” 

Anyone else might've answered the question, but all Mickey did was take another long sip through the straw, his cheeks hollowing out until the drink made a loud, sucking noise. He wasn't having it. “Your boyfriend know you've got a piece on the side, or am I your dirty little secret?”

“He's _not_ my boyfriend.” Ian sucked on his chapped bottom lip. “He's married and has kids. I helped him figure out he was gay. I haven't even had sex with him since—” Clearing his throat, Ian shook his head, rubbing his gloved hands together before sliding them back into his pockets. “For awhile now. And yeah, you are. Emphasis on dirty.”

“You like it,” Mickey said with a low chuckle, shoving the straw around in the cup to break up the ice. “And I'll stop believing that when you stop slobbering on my neck every time we fuck.”

Glancing at the guy beside him, Mickey couldn't help but grimace a little. There were all kinds of signs, signs he knew about and avoided like the plague, and they weren't letting him just plug his ears and shut his eyes anymore. Not with Mandy living in the same house, who was two old Cosmo mags away from thinking she was a romance guru.

If Ian wasn't screwing Kash anymore, that meant they were both only having sex with each other. There was too much exclusivity there, and he knew it. And if anyone thought he didn't notice the way Ian looked at him sometimes, they were dead wrong.

“Why aren't you still fuckin' him?” he asked, his frown disappearing when he popped open the top of his Slurpee and began spooning the ice into his mouth with the straw. “Aren't you one of those guys who ends up tripping over themselves in love with whatever ass you're pounding? 'Cause that's what I figured.”

Ian's expression was that of someone thoroughly unimpressed. “I fucked Roger Spikey; I didn't love him. I've fucked Kash and... yeah, okay, he's my _friend_ , I care if he gets hurt, but I'm not in love with him. Like I said. Married. I'm not an idiot.”  


He snatched the cup away from Mickey's grip, quickly taking a swig of ice and red syrup, licking the color off his lips with a grin as he grabbed it right back like Ian had taken his favorite toy.  


“ _And_ ,” he continued, licking his lips again and grinning at Mickey's annoyed look, “I don't love you. Are you going to keep making stupid assumptions about me? Because you're striking out a _lot_.” 

Mickey's response was a quiet grunt before he tilted the cup back again, pushing another clump of ice into his mouth and chewing until the chill bit into him, making him take in a sharp breath. “Son of a _bitch_ ,” he hissed, the cup's cover and straw dropped back onto the cup and his hand moving to clutch at his forehead. Rubbing at the skin, he waited until the pain melted away to continue talking. “Whatever, Gallagher. Don't care enough to argue with you.”

“Told you it was too cold,” he laughed, moving to walk a little closer.  


After a few moments of silence, Ian spoke again, voice a little softer than before. “...You cared enough to ask, though. You get that even if I _do_ fall for you... I know that's my problem, not yours. I'm not an idiot.” Ian sighed. “Except for the part where I actually like being around you.” 

“Yeah, which makes you an idiot,” Mickey replied, skidding past the _if I do fall for you_ and into Ian's final statement. That was easier. “But hey, I'm up for a screw anywhere, anytime. I'm a fuckin' _fantastic_ lay. And you don't have to buy me shit or take me out. I'm perfect.”

Ian laughed at that, corner of his mouth curling up as he looked over at Mickey. “So close to saying _yeah, you are_ just to watch you freak out.” He couldn't help but giggle to the point of having to cover his mouth when Mickey leveled one hell of a glare at him.  


His hand fell back to his side. “Christ, Mickey. Relax, okay?” Nudging him with his shoulder, he kept on walking. “Why would I want to fuck Kash when I'm fucking you? _That's_ why I'm not doing it with him any more. You don't have to worry so much. Aren't I allowed to _like_ you without it being weird?” 

“'Cause you were having him first,” Mickey replied, tossing his now empty cup into a nearby garbage can. It hit the rim and bounced off, rolling into the gutter. There was no one around to see, so he didn't bother with picking it up. Even if someone had seen his miss, he wouldn't have cared. “You two had a thing going on, so I figured it'd just keep goin'. Whatever, that's on you. I don't care what you do with your dick.”

“I was. You're just better.”  


Ian managed to make it sound relatively off-handed, but the fact that had such an impact on him was bothersome. Or maybe he just felt like it should have been. You can't watch a marriage fall apart, come back together, only to have half of it abandon you while the other half pretended they were taking the high road by staying when they were just an abusive drunk. He was pretty sure love wasn't even on his radar. But he didn't really feel like explaining that to Mickey.  


He let out a sigh, watching his breath in the cold air. “He's off early tomorrow,” Ian said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “If you wanted to swing by.” 

“Yeah? Maybe.”

Even more frustrating than asking questions was forcing himself to seem uninterested. Unattached. As if the prospect of having Ian bend him into a pretzel in the stock room at the Kash and Grab didn't make his mouth water. “Mandy's on the rag so she's been inhaling chocolate like a fuckin' Hoover. You think you can keep it in your pants until I'm done playing delivery boy?”

“If I can't, I'll still be ready for you.” Ian flashed him a toothy grin, voice taking on a teasing tone. “I could give you some chocolate, you know. But I wouldn't want to give you the wrong impression. I can't afford you getting all _attached.”_

Mickey narrowed an annoyed look in his direction. “I wouldn't be eating it anyway, so how I get it doesn't matter,” he said before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He didn't mind the cold, but walking across the South side for no reason wasn't his idea of fun. He still didn't know why he'd ended up all the way out here in the cold with Ian. Some dumb as shit, seat of his pants idea, no doubt. 

When he continued, he did so with a half-smile, chin tilted up and eyes ahead. “Takes a hell of a lot more to get me attached, though.”

“You sure? I remember a lot of the shit you stole. I think you have a sweet tooth.” Ian was pushing it now, and he knew it. He had to start backpedaling. “Sorry. I'm still enjoying the novelty of you not threatening to punch me in the face because I'm teasing you.” 

“Yeah, well, nobody should fuck with a good thing.” 

Unless the good thing is an enthusiastic bottom with a nice ass, evidently. 

It's not like anybody else was giving him what he wanted. People were doormats when it came to the Milkovich family, and half of them weren't even because of previous experience. They had clout, a bad reputation for being brutal and not caring one way or another what kind of trouble they might get into. 

But Ian was different. The Milkovich family and the Gallaghers got along alright until the incident with Mandy. They weren't the best of friends, but Mickey started school the same year as Lip and they'd gotten into a lot of shit together. Ian had a couple dozen reasons to not want to be anywhere near Mickey, but he didn't care. And maybe not caring about some things was less of a commodity and more of a good thing.

Mickey glanced at Ian, brow arched. “You know what I like. Don't see what's so surprising about me wantin' to keep you around.”

Ian's brow furrowed. He hadn't really thought of it like that. Yeah, Mickey was a dick, but he had wants just like everyone else did. And now he had someone that he was pretty sure wouldn't rat him out. That had to count for something.  


So he smiled at Mickey, probably too sweet for his own good, and answered.  


“Yeah, makes sense,” he said, smile turning into a grin. “Also explains my side of things. I'm just saying.” 

Mickey made a face that spoke volumes of just how much he didn't understand. Someone else? Having a similar opinion? Nonsense. At least they were getting close to Ian's house. When they got there, he could check out of the conversation without looking like the guilty party.

Jerking his chin forward, down the familiar street crowded with cars and clutter, Mickey's hands twisted in the pockets of his jacket. “You really think we got that much in common?” he asked, adopting a tone all but dripping with disbelief. “Doubt it.”

“We might.” Ian's tucked his neck down as a gust of wind threatened to freeze his ears off. “I mean, not even talking about the obvious, here. I've surprised you more than once.”  


They were in front of his house now. He knew he'd lost the... whatever this was. Argument? It didn't really feel like an argument.  


Still, Ian kept a smile up. It was something that never seemed to really turn off around Mickey, along with his dick. “You've surprised me, too,” he murmured, eyebrows slanting upward. “It's not a bad thing.” 

Mickey, however, kept his chin down, eyes averted, fingers leaving his pocket to tug at the scarf wound around his neck. “Don't like surprises,” he said, and when he looked towards Ian, his forehead wrinkled. “I don't like being caught with my pants down. Not unless I put 'em there.”

“Not looking to catch you off guard,” Ian said before jerking his thumb back towards his house. “Do you want to come in for a beer or something? Debbie and Carl are home, but, uh... should be safe otherwise, if you want.” 

Shaking his head, Mickey took a step back. Then another. Beer sounded good. Being mostly alone with Ian in his house sounded less so, if only because of the 'mostly.' That was enough to put him off, the mark of a man looking for an excuse. 

“I only came out this way to buy some weed. No point in walking alone when you're going the same way.”

Ian's shoulders slumped forward, but he nodded and smiled briefly anyway. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.”  


Before Mickey could say anything about him being presumptuous, Ian was already unlocking the door and heading inside, sparing a moment to wave him goodbye before shutting it. 

The guy he always bought weed from lived at one end of the street; his house was in the opposite direction, blocks past the Kash and Grab. Mickey waited on the sidewalk for a minute, staring up at the house, until he was sure Ian was inside and wasn't watching him.

He began walking the way he came.


	4. the first bullet

The first gunshot hadn't worried Ian.

The noise was something he was familiar with, and knowing Mickey was there... well, he couldn't really blame Kash for firing a warning shot, right? It was about time he stood up for himself.

After the second shot, though, Ian was on edge, dropping the case of chips he was bringing out of storage just as the third bullet was discharged.

Mickey screamed.

It was all a blur except for the guy on the floor, clutching his leg. Ian couldn't hear what Mickey was saying with all the blood rushing in his ears. There was just the unrelenting _ba-dum_ of his frantic heartbeat.

His thoughts were scattered, and just as insistent as his thrumming heart. 

_Mickey Mickey Mickey. Make sure he's okay. Pressure on wound. Keep him conscious. How could you let this happen? What are you doing? Why are you crying for him_?

“--lagher!”

Ian shook his head, pulling himself out of his stupor. He found himself nearly on top of Mickey, like his first instinct was to try and shield him from any more gunfire. His hands cupped his jaw, sliding down to Mickey's neck, then back again, and their faces were closer than they'd ever been without Ian's dick being inside him.

“Oh, God.” Ian's voice trembled. “Mickey, I-- shit, I'm so sorry! I-- here, let me--” He fished a rag out of his apron, finding a clean spot to press against the wound. “Shit. You're-- You're gonna be okay, Mick.”

“He fuckin' shot me!” 

Mickey's shrill words were loud enough to nearly make both of them go deaf. On his bottom lip was a smear of red to match the slick linoleum tiles beneath him, a mark of biting his bottom lip too hard after the fall. And his eyes were as wild as the bright streak of color dripping from his mouth. 

Looking to Ian, he squirmed beneath him, shifting off of the injured leg and all but screaming in frustration at the pain that shot up his thigh. They were close, but close didn't matter with a bullet in your leg. A soft palm on his cheek didn't matter when he bled onto cardboard displays of fruit. The fact that there were worried tears in Ian's eyes didn't matter with the throbbing in his muscle and the pain that was making him nauseous.

When he looked back to Kash, Mickey flared up again, pulling himself higher up to let out a shout of, “Fuckin' jerkoff!” in his direction.

“I'm calling the police,” Kash muttered under his breath.  


“Make sure they bring an ambulance!” When Kash didn't respond, Ian repeated himself. “ _KASH!_ Tell them someone's _hurt_. He needs help!”  


Whatever reluctance the older man had seemed to melt away at Ian's desperate, watery tone.  


Ian turned back to Mickey. “Calm down. You're moving too much f-for me to keep up--” His jaw twitched as he sniffed back the tears that kept threatening to make things so much worse. “I need to keep pressure on this, and you need to stop moving so much. The-- the bullet could do more damage if you keep it up.” 

“Fuck that!” Mickey shook his head, trying to keep himself pulled up into a sitting position despite the pull of his thigh. He'd been to juvie more than a few times. He'd spent most summers in there for one reason or another. He got his shit kicked in sometimes, but he'd never gotten shot. “What's he gonna tell the cops, huh? That he caught us fucking, and he put a round in me just to scare me off? Over a fuckin' candy bar? You think _anybody's_ gonna believe that!?”

When Ian didn't reply immediately, Mickey looked at him, his jaw set and mouth twisted in a grimace. “Don't answer that,” he muttered in a strained voice. “Just... just go tell him to tell the cops I jumped him or – or something.”

Ian moved to Mickey's side, eyes flicked from the bleeding wound, to the boy's face, and back again.  


He wanted to scream at him. Even as he was wrapping his arms around Mickey's middle, helping him sit up and against one of the shelves, he felt an anger flare up. It wasn't directed at Mickey, not really. It was directed at Kash. At Mickey's dad. At the world. How sick was it that he'd rather go to juvie than let it go on record this was more of a lover's spat than anything else?  


But Ian remembered those trembling hands with a clarity that bothered him.  


“I will,” he said softly, wiping his bloody hands on his apron before grabbing another, cleaner rag out of its pocket and pressing it to Mickey's thigh, chin trembling when he cried out in pain. “No one'll know; it'll be okay, Mickey. I promise.” 

“They better not,” Mickey replied, head rolling back to rest against a shelf. His hands curled into fists then relaxed at his sides, again and again, one covered in blood and the other clean. With every breath, his jaw did the same – tightening then falling just far enough to take a long, shaky breath. His eyes focused on the ceiling instead of Ian's face for a while, only looking at him again once the pounding bled into a dull throb. 

The skin of Ian's cheeks were just as splotchy as they were freckled, and his own eyes were just as red and just as infuriatingly wet as Mickey's for entirely different reasons. “Nnh, s'just a fuckin' bullet. At least he didn't shoot me between the eyes.”

So he wasn't the best at being reassuring.

“I know, I--” Ian looked into Mickey's eyes for a few silent seconds before letting his gaze drop back down to his thigh. “It's my fault you got shot. My dick isn't worth getting shot for.” Ian raised his voice, peering over his shoulder at Kash who was pacing behind the counter. “It's not worth _shooting a fucking gun_ over, either!”  


When he looked back to Mickey, his eyes were a little drier, but not by much. “This is all so stupid. I never should have left you alone with him.” 

“He's a fuckin' pussy; I didn't think he'd _shoot_ me,” Mickey replied, still strained and just loud enough for Kash to hear, though the volume was pathetic compared to Ian's moments before. Grinding his molars, his brows knitted together, and he palmed at his other thigh, desperate for some kind of relief. Laughing would hurt, but he knew it would hurt the guy who shot him even more. “Look at him! The towelhead's so fuckin' pale he could pass for white. Nnh, hope you don't faint at the sight of blood! 'Cause Ian ain't cleaning this shit up!”

“Mickey. Shut the _fuck_ up.”  


Ian sighed heavily, reaching over to wipe some blood off of Mickey's lip. “Stop being a douchebag for a couple minutes and just focus on calming down before you _rupture_ something.” He rubbed at his lip a little more firmly before holding Mickey's chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I'm cleaning this up. I'm cleaning _all_ of it up, not just your blood, so can you just keep the racial slurs to a minimum? Save it for when the cops come. I probably won't even have to lie to them, then.” 

“Did you miss the part when he shot me? I sure as hell didn't. This is his mess.” He passed his tongue over the split in his lip. Everything hurt, but it wasn't showing as much on his face. He was pale and his upper lip twitched every now and then, but he schooled his expression into a characteristic grimace. “You don't have to clean _anything_ up. Tell 'em I jumped him, and I'll get sent to juvie. A few months, tops, then I'm out. It's that fuckin' simple.”

Juvie was easy. It wasn't _fun_ and the sex definitely wasn't satisfying, but it was easy. Everybody expected this out of him. Nobody asked any questions, especially his dad. If anything, getting locked up made the old man proud.

“No, I _didn't_ miss it!”  


Ian at least had the decency to blush after screaming at the guy bleeding in front of him. He felt the tell-tale burn of tears again and forced himself to look down at the wound before any fell.  


“I get it. I know what to say.” He sniffed and wiped his blood-soaked hand on his apron again, then his jeans. The adrenaline was starting to wear off; Ian could feel his fingers trembling. “Just accept that I'm willing to commit perjury for you and leave it at that.” 

Mickey was quiet for a while, but when he did speak, his cheek rested in the curve of his own shoulder. 

The pain mixed with his own adrenaline mixed with the blood loss was making it difficult to think straight, but at least he could still manage words. “Hey. Stop with the crying.” He lifted up a hand to scrape it through his hair, not remembering which he chose and not caring about the smear of blood that ended up at the top of his forehead. “Your boyfriend didn't hit anything important. If he can't handle a gun that size, I – nnh – I dunno how he could ever handle your dick.”

Ian jutted his chin forward when he peered back at Mickey.  


“He's not. My boyfriend,” he said lowly. Then a corner of his mouth hitched up. “And he never took all of it.”  


Part of him knew he was just trying to make Mickey feel a little better, but the other part... well, most of the time he just found Mick's jackassery hilarious. 

Leaning his head back again, Mickey laughed louder than he should have, the noise ending in a groan. 

He hated being in a position of weakness. He hated it when being bent over and fucked by current events wasn't his choice. He wanted to be in control. Or at least unconcious. “Jesus Christ, did they stop for fuckin' McDonalds?!”

“They're called out here once a week, they should--”  


The sound of sirens interrupted him..  


It was only when Ian heard the sound of wheels and car doors opening that he left Mickey's side. Wouldn't look good if he was tending the robber, right?  


As usual, Ian took the lead. They were cops he knew, cops Mickey knew. It didn't take much to convince them he had robbed the store; it took even less to convince them the cameras still weren't functioning.  


Some part of him flared up at that. Not that he was surprised, really. I mean, what had Mickey done to deserve any sort of benefit of the doubt? He'd been in and out of juvie for as long as Ian could remember. He was violent, ignorant, and unmotivated.  


At least, that's what Ian thought for the longest time.  


Ever since the first time they had sex, Mickey hadn't laid a hand on him that wasn't friendly or lustful. He listened, too. Sometimes even gave advice.  


So while the latter was true, Ian had a difficult time swallowing the other two adjectives, even if he knew Mickey had a violent streak... it was frighteningly easy for Ian to accept when it wasn't aimed at him.  


Ian watched helplessly as the officers put Mickey in cuffs and tugged him to his feet with no regard to his injury. There was a tug in his heart; he wanted to yell at them to be gentle, tell them he really did nothing to deserve this.  


The memory of shaking hands came back once more. Ian pressed his lips into a thin line.  


It had never occurred to him that Mickey Milkovich felt fear.


	5. the second walk home

Mandy dragging some guy along when she met him when got released didn't look weird on paper. She didn't date, but whoever she was fucking typically followed her around like a pussy-whipped dog until they got sick of each other.

But Mandy wasn't dragging anyone this time. And even if she was, it wasn't her fuck buddy or boyfriend. It was the guy she was bearding for. It was Ian.

Mickey didn't have more than a foot out of the door when he realized she wasn't alone. Even jostled around by his fellow delinquents, shoved and shoving back until he was standing at the fence, he could tell who was with her by the color of his hair. Everything else... Everything else was different.

He was inches taller than before and seemed like he was twice as wide. His face changed, too, filling out and looking years older instead of months. Mickey didn't know whether to laugh or give himself a mental peptalk to keep from getting a boner.

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn't decided.

It didn't take long for Mandy to ditch them. She wandered off too soon and too enthusiastically to be an impulsive decision, and that left Ian and Mickey walking alone and not saying much. A lot hung between them, a lot of things they refused to talk about after Ian's first visit in juvie, a lot of things they refused to do because of the sun and the traffic. So they just walked.

That was, until Mickey couldn't stand being quiet any longer. “So what's with the gun show?” he asked, digging out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and taking one out before offering the pack to Ian. “You used to be grade A twink material.”

Ian arched his brow as he took a cigarette. “Can't tell if that's a good thing or not,” he said, thumbing over the cig in his fingers before putting it between his lips, off to the side so he he could still talk. He fished out his lighter while Mickey did the same. “Are you upset I'm not, like, wafer thin anymore, or are you trying not to get a boner from the fact I could probably lift you up and fuck you against a wall?” 

Mickey chuckled under his breath, his cigarette shaking in his mouth even as he tried to light it. Once the flame caught and the paper began to burn, he glanced in Ian's direction. “Shit, Gallagher. Not screwing around, are you?”

Pausing to take a long drag, he considered Ian's question and how he should answer it. On one hand, he'd always gotten off on someone so nonthreatening fucking him like that, but on the other, the prospect of getting manhandled wasn't something he was willing to shy away from. So he shrugged. “Just a simple question. As long as you're not chewing though steroids, what matters isn't gonna change.”

Ian inhaled a mouthful a smoke, smiling more to himself than at Mickey when he finally let it escape his lungs. “Nah. Spent overtime in training,” he explained, walking a little closer. “Didn't wanna be home. Plus, y'know, I really wasn't gonna get anywhere in the Marines if I clocked in at 125 pounds.”  


All of that was true, he was just omitting that he also wanted to look better for Mickey. And that he just needed something to do while his... fuck buddy? was in juvie.  


“Glad you noticed, though.” Ian rolled his eyes, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette. “Getting a good body gets me all the sort of attention I _don't_ want.” 

“What about what you do want?” Mickey ran the back of his thumb over the bridge of his nose before taking another inhale, letting the smoke out through his nose. “There's no way you went months without somebody getting on your dick, not lookin' like that.”  


Ian tensed at the question. Mickey was right, but he wasn't sure whether or not he should tell him that. Would it ruin their chances? Or would he be happier with it, knowing (or thinking he knew) he wasn't attached to him. It wasn't really the case. Ian thrived on attention and without Mickey around to give it to him, he got desperate. He couldn't say he was proud of any of it, but at least he hadn't gone back to Kash.  


Eventually, though, his distaste for lying and his desire to be honest with Mickey overruled his apprehension.  


“Yeah, there were a couple guys, but I got into their pants,” he said, sliding his hand into his pocket. “Things just sort of happened, I guess. Didn't hook up with Kash again, though. Hell, I didn't even see any of them more than once.” He let out a bit of a laugh, shaking his head as the smoke billowed out from his mouth. “Gotta stop going for virgins.” 

Mickey's face went from curious to impressed, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. Making assumptions about Ian never really got him far before, but this was above and beyond what he expected from him. And it gave him something of a free pass. Convincing himself Ian wasn't attached was a lot easier when he knew he'd slept with other people while he was away.

“Virgins are bad luck. Nobody taught you that?” Mickey laughed, taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it away. “It's like bad juju or somethin'. And you fucked more than one? I'm surprise your dick's still working.”

“Yeah? So you knew I wasn't one when you were trying to tear my clothes off?” Ian smirked as he took a drag, releasing it in Mickey's direction. “'Cause I _know_ nothing about me screamed 'I've had sex.'” He flicked the butt of his cigarette off into the gutter. “And for the record, my dick's fine, thanks.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes despite the smile at the corner of his mouth. “I wasn't the only one doing all the tearing,” he said. When Ian didn't respond, only narrowed an amused look in his direction, his shoulders hitched again. “I dunno. Just a hunch.”

His walk slowed. It was getting dark, and there were still too many things to talk about, too many things that made him curious. He didn't much care for the fact that talking to Ian was so easy, but he wasn't in the mood to question it. Maybe he never would be. Instead, his strides slowed again until he stopped, waiting in that very spot until Ian did the same.

“So why'd you show up today? Mandy ask you?”

“Isn't that what she told you?” Now both of Ian's hands were in his pockets, shoulders curving inward. He really didn't want to let on that he had just shown up at a corner to walk with her. There was only so far he stretch his honesty without sending Mickey running for the hills. “Like I said. Rough neighborhood. She didn't want to come out here alone.”  


Lifting his hand, he brushed it over his mouth, smoothing his fingertips over the corners of his lips before letting his arm fall limp at his side. “Is it really that big of a deal why I'm here?” 

“Fuckin' right it is,” Mickey replied without missing a beat. “She knows it's a rough neighborhood. We live in a rough neighborhood. It's not like she's some Northside bitch with a boyfriend on the wrong side of the tracks.” He paused, teeth tugging on the corner of his bottom lip. Rather than linger on the subject too long, Mickey chose to keep walking, brushing past Ian without even checking to see if he moved to catch up. “It's just a simple fuckin' question, but whatever.”

Ian followed, though. Mickey hadn't been back for more than a half an hour and Ian felt like he was already miles behind.  


“You're my friend,” he said, reaching out to grab Mickey's wrist, making him stop. “I just wanted to be here, alright? I didn't get to go see you in juvie as much as I wanted to, I just wanted you to know I--” Ian sighed, thumb rubbing the soft skin of its own volition.  


“That I was _here_.” Ian's brows slanted upward. “Nothing's changed.” 

Mickey's brows knitted together; his jaw set. “Since when were we friends?” he asked, his tone lighter than he anticipated. Like he was surprised instead of put off. He decided he didn't like it only a moment before pulling his wrist away from Ian's hand. “I don't want whatever it is this is. I thought I made that clear the last time you came visit me.”

“Why do you have to do this?” Despite Ian's voice having dropped in the months at Mickey was away, it still tended to get thready when he was upset, as he was now. “Stop acting like I'm proposing to you! You've been my friend since you actually took some time to _listen to me_ once in awhile. I _like you_. That doesn't mean I'm looking to be your fucking boyfriend.” 

“Aren't you? 'Cause now you're acting like one.” 

Mickey turned around, his eyes catching Ian's as the boy stepped up beside him. “I do this 'cause I don't want you getting any ideas. I've made it pretty fuckin' clear what we are, but you keep adding onto it. I don't need you showing up to walk me home, alright? I know where my house is.”

“Jesus _Christ_.” Ian laced his hands behind his head and let out a groan of frustration. “Why? Why do I do this to myself?” Letting one hand drop to his side, he pointed an accusing finger toward Mickey with the other. “You? You need to stop pretending you know what I want. If I _wanted_ a boyfriend? I'd have a goddamn boyfriend. But fine. Lesson learned; we're not friends. Next time you get out of juvie, I won't be here.” 

Any number of things could have happened. 

Mickey could've turned and left without a word. Ian could have done the same. Mickey could've stayed. They could've had a shouting match in the middle of some street. Or they could've ducked into an alley and got off however they could with such limited resources.

But instead, Mickey pursed his lips to keep from grinning, and the breath he let out sounded more like a chuckle than any exhale should. “Fuuuck, Gallagher. I forgot how easy it was to piss you off.”

Ian _tried_. He tried with all the willpower and muscle control he had, but in the end, his cheek still twitched and a laugh escaped him.  


“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, giving Mickey's shoulder a shove. “I swear to god, I'd drag you straight the fuck back there if I thought they'd take you. Shit, they're probably throwing a party right now.” 

Mickey laughed out that, an outright, genuine laugh that bared teeth. The tension wasn't gone, but he wasn't interested in getting into anything with Ian. It was easier to keep him happy than to talk about shit that actually mattered. “Yeah, 'cause they're gonna miss me so much. I'm a fuckin' barrel of laughs, you know.”

Ian's smile melted into something softer, but only for a moment. Seeing Mickey smile like that was rare... in fact he wasn't sure he'd ever seen something so genuine on his face before. It was... odd, but not in a bad way. Just when Ian had convinced himself that there was no way he and Mickey could ever be a thing, and that for a number of reasons, they _shouldn't_ , the bastard did something like that.  


“Yeah, hilarious,” he said, rolling his eyes before sighing. “So can I walk you home, or what? I got a shift soon, anyway. I don't have to walk you the entire way. I'd just like to keep you out of trouble for, y'know, a day? Maybe? So we can at least fuck a few times.” 

Mickey's answer was a noncommittal shrug, though his smile was still there, smaller and more familiar. “That's on you. Not like I went to juvie 'cause I got into trouble in the first place. As long as none of your boyfriends jump outta the bushes and shoot me, I shouldn't be back in for at least a week.” 

Another tease, this time punctuated with Mickey giving Ian's shoulder a shove like he'd done to him only a little while before. 

“Hey, _no one_ could've predicted Kash growing the balls to shoot you!” Ian laughed, letting his weight shift onto one foot from the shove before continuing to walk. “Plus, the guys I fucked were all Northsiders. Y'know, just in case they got all crazy. It's a good safety net. If they figure out where I live, they'll just get shot and mugged on their way here. You're safe.” 

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “How are you gonna go back to me after all that expensive Northside ass?”

“You fishing for compliments, Mick?” Ian shot him a toothy grin, one brow raised. “If there's one thing I've learned from this whole... _thing_ , it's that no one in Chicago is as good at being a bottom as you are. But, hey, if you wanna _remind_ me of that...” He made a thoughtful noise, pursing his lips. “Although... you're out of practice. Who knows?” 

Mickey grimaced, though the expression shifted into a laugh not long after. “It's like riding a damn bike. You _don't_ forget how somethin' like that works, alright?” Passing his tongue over his bottom lip, he shrugged again before digging out another cigarette and lighting it. “If you want me to prove it to you... You off Thursday?”

“No, I'm not off until Saturday, but on Friday I don't have to close, so we could meet up somewhere.” He glanced at Mickey out of the corner of his eye, a smile still on his lips. “That good for you?” 

“Yeah, Friday's good.” A 'see you at the store' was on his lips when he stopped himself, fishing around for an idea. He was tired of getting fucked at the Kash and Grab. Or by the Kash and Grab. Or near the Kash and Grab. “Meet me at the baseball park,” Mickey told him without sparing it another thought. “Friday, around... ten.”

Ian's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead he nodded and looked down at his watch.  


“Sounds good,” he said, eyes meeting Mickey's briefly. “I'll get over to the store.” Ian was already walking ahead of him, almost at a jog when he turned around. “Hey, tell Mandy I owe her dinner!”  


And then he was running across the street and down to the next corner. Not that the distance stopped him from waving one last time. 


	6. changing the subject

Ian stared at Mickey as he lit a smoke, leaning against the chain link fence. His fly was partially up, pale skin sweaty and dirty, chest heaving, eager to catch his breath.

He hadn't seen Mickey like this before. He was smiling, and at absolutely nothing as far as Ian could tell. Mickey just seemed happy. Like he wasn't a closeted kid on the Southside with a fucked up family and no prospects except minimum wage or jail in his future.

At least, that's what everyone thought.

Ian didn't believe in that shit, though. Barring mental deficiencies, he felt like anyone could learn anything if they put enough time into it. If they worked hard, if they had people believing in them. He _had_ to believe that. Otherwise he'd have to accept that Westpoint was never going to happen.

“So,” Ian reached out to snag Mickey's cigarette from his mouth only to have the guy wave him off, “--fine, be that way – anyway, I told you what I got planned. What about you? You're gonna come back to school, aren't you?”

Mickey laughed at that, the rush of breath pushing smoke out of his lungs. He didn't get why Ian was so concerned with his plans. Their paths crossed enough as it was. Not only did they live within a couple of miles of each other, but the Kash and Grab was the only place he could steal from and not end up in the back of a cop car. Or an ambulance. Now that he'd gotten shot there, they owed him. Some smokes and some chocolate, at least.

“Not part of the agreement,” he muttered before taking another drag. “My probation officer told me to get a job, not go back to school. It's not like I'd be doing anything but sitting on my ass in there anyway.”

“You can do both.” Ian leaned back against the fence, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He managed, mostly. “You'd pass your classes if you actually tried to.” 

When Mickey looked at him, he didn't seem surprised. 

If anyone was going to go After School Special after a fuck, it'd be Gallagher.

“Who says I wanna try?” Mickey replied after a long moment, flicking the ash off of his cigarette before handing it over to Ian. “If I don't get a job, they'll find one for me. So I'm gonna find a job. End of.” Pausing, his eyebrows shot upwards, wrinkling his forehead. “That okay with you?”

“I can get you a job,” Ian replied with a sigh before taking a drag off Mickey's cigarette. “At least, I can _try_. But that's not what I'm trying to get at.” He tapped the cigarette against his fingers, brows furrowing and then slanting upward. “What about college? Or at least some technical training or something.”  


He _knew_ he was stretching his limits with what he could talk to Mickey about, but someone had to look out for him, right? Even Mandy just thought he was a delinquent with no hope. Ian wasn't okay with that.  


“It's just... something to think about.” Ian handed back the cigarette, sucking on his bottom lip briefly. “Just _passing_ doesn't take a whole lot of effort.” 

“I'd still be a fuckin' freshman.” Mickey grabbed for another beer with his free hand and popped the top. Pulling the cigarette away from his lips, he chugged a quarter of the beer before handing it to Ian and belching. “No way am I spending four more years in high school before going to – to some shitty local college. The fuck would I do, anyway? I'm too butch for beauty school.”

Ian swallowed his reply with a mouthful of warm beer.  


He could actually feel his cheeks warming up with anger. As usual, it wasn't really directed at Mickey; it was more the situation. He knew it wasn't true, but part of him couldn't help but wonder if he'd have a better chance at getting through to him if he hadn't gotten Mickey shot.  


“I don't know? Vocational training is usually, like, two years. Sometimes less.” Ian set the can down between them. “I get that college isn't for everyone, I just... I dunno, wish you'd give it more thought. You're not—”  


Ian couldn't finish his sentence. _You're not just another teen with a record_ , he wanted to say. So what did that mean? Wasn't he? If he was more than that, how much more? Was it what he could do or how he _saw_ him?  


“Fuck, I just want you to keep it in mind, okay?” Ian scrubbed his hand over his face before crossing his arms over his chest. “You're _capable_. And go ahead and rag on me for butting into your life, but I'm not gonna apologize for it.” 

“Jesus, Gallagher. Relax.”

Picking up the beer, Mickey swished it around in his hand before tilting it back and taking a mouthful. Once he swallowed and set the can down where it'd been, he busied himself with zipping and unzipping his fly. “I'm getting a job. There isn't anything but a major fuckin' headache waiting for me at school. At least I'm getting paid if I got a job.”

“Whatever. I'm just—” Ian cut himself off again. “Nevermind. We can go talk to Linda next time I go in for a shift. If you can let me do the talking, she'll probably give you a job with minimal amounts of groveling.” 

“Her husband fuckin' shot me the last time I was in there,” Mickey said with a chuckle. He handed Ian the cigarette before pushing away from the wall of the dugout. “No way am I bending over and kissing her feet just for something to keep my parole officer off my ass. You can talk, but I ain't doing any groveling. No way.”

“I didn't say _you'd_ be doing the groveling. You think I don't know you better than that?” Ian took one last drag, making a face when the flavor of the melting filter hit his tongue; he flicked the butt aside. “I'm the only person you bend over for, and even then you're a pushy son of a bitch.” 

Mickey moved over to Ian, his fingers already moving over the waist of his jeans and an expectant smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. “I know what I like and how to get you to give it to me,” he said with a shrug. His smirk broke when he opened his mouth to bite his bottom lip, teeth tugging on it before he let it go. “Wanna go again, or you wanna call up the guidance counselor?”

“Shut up.”  


Ian grinned, gripping onto Mickey's shoulders only to turn him around. He squeezed the back of Mickey's neck while he worked on getting his pants and underwear down, groaning as the other boy did the same.  


He didn't so much kiss as he did suck at the back of Mickey's neck, letting his hot breath skate over his damp, salty skin. The warm summer night clung to both of them, making them sticky and sweaty without ever exerting energy, but Ian liked it that way. There was something sexy about going home smelling like Mickey, even if the smell wasn't exactly fresh.  


Grabbing the small bottle of lube they had left out from before, Ian coated his cock from base to tip. As he was about to swirl some against Mickey's entrance, he thought better of it, instead deciding to grab hold of his cock and rub the slick head up and down Mickey's asshole, muttering out a quiet _fuck_ into his ear when he pressed in, teasing with the tip, only to pull out and rock his dick between Mickey's cheeks. 

Mickey leaned one bent arm against the wall of the dugout, and the other reached out, fingers curling into the chain-link fence. Rocking onto the balls of his feet and arching his back just enough, he spread his thighs in a wordless bid for Ian to get in him. Stretching wasn't necessary; not with how recently they'd fucked. And Mickey's position said: _don't worry about it, don't spend any time on it, just get in me._

Ian was inside him fully within a few seconds.  


Once he was there, however, he didn't move. He forced Mickey forward until his body was flush with the fence and made no attempt to bend his knees to accommodate for their height difference. It forced Mickey to stay on the balls of his feet, made him tighten and arch through no choice of his own, and Ian liked him like that, especially with their bodies so close.  


“You're just pissed off because I'm telling you what you don't want to hear.” Why he was continuing their conversation from before, he had no idea. He got a sick thrill out of pushing his limits with Mickey. “You should get a dildo if you want a fucktoy that won't talk back.”  


With that, his hips were rocking, barely moving himself more than an inch or two out of Mickey's ass, keeping him as full as possible. Being buried so deep let him feel each contraction of his body, made each thrust a challenge in keeping control of his own, but it was worth it to see how Mickey reacted. 

Mickey's knuckles went white as his grip tightened, forcing his hips back until he was sure Ian couldn't go any deeper. Very few people could handle physical and verbal teasing gracefully. Mickey couldn't handle either of them on a good day. All he wanted was for Ian to bend him over and screw him senseless. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't even want to think about it.

“I have a few,” came his groaned reply once he found his words. “But they don't moan. Or bite. Or cum in my ass.” Mickey spit out another curse as Ian's hips rolled in response, his palm pressing harder against the cement and tangling tighter into the fence. “Leaves something to be desired.”

Ian wasn't particularly patient when fucking, either.  


Whatever words he had melted away when Mickey talked, when his ass clenched around his dick so tight Ian had to stop moving just to keep from blowing his load. The way his hips pressed back, the noises he made, the grip on the fence – all of it made Ian harder and more desperate than ever to fuck him.  


“Guess I should _thank_ you for using me, then,” he groaned out after a pause in their movements. He knew Mickey was going to complain, but Ian didn't give him the time.  


Pulling out of him, Ian bent down just enough to tear Mickey's ratty sneakers off his feet, jerking at the boy's pants and underwear until he finally got the message that they were coming _off_. There was a ragged _what the fuck_ from him, but just as he got the last word out, Ian was lifting him up.  


Though his muscles strained, it was simple enough to keep Mickey up with one arm (while he seemed determined to hold onto the fence instead of Ian), pressing his back against the chain-link fence as he used his free hand to hold his dick steady. It took him a minute to get Mickey low enough without dropping him, but once he was in the best position, Ian slammed into him and started thrusting without an ounce of build up.  


His fingertips dug into Mickey's hips, slipping on his damp skin. Ian leaned forward, burying his face into the curve of his neck, panting, unable to keep the moan of Mickey's name from slipping out as his pace quickened. 

“Holy shit.” The words were a gasp into the quiet save for the noise their bodies made and the moan of his name. They had ended up facing each other a few times, but this was different. This was an obvious power play, and instead of pissing it off, his skin burned and his legs curled tighter around Ian's waist. And the pair of lips on his neck – feeling Ian's breath against his sweaty skin, hearing every little sound Ian made right close to his ear – only made everything that much better. “Ohh, fuck _me_ , that's good.”

Ian moaned a soft, “yeah,” against Mickey's throat, but it was less of a response as it was just a general noise. A word that slipped out because he had to say something about the incredible feeling he was getting. The coil that tightened in his belly just drove him onward, faster and harder, each thrust determined to get deeper than the last.  


His teeth scraped and then sunk into the large muscle between Mickey's neck and shoulder. There had been a time when Ian was careful not to leave marks, but then he heard him pass them off as lovebites from some college girl he was screwing.  


If anything, that made Ian start biting harder when they fucked. 

And when Ian bit, Mickey seemed to groan all the way from his toes, a bonus Ian was more than willing to dig into in order to receive.

“Come on.” One of Mickey's hands left the gate – his shoulders pushed so hard up against it he nearly held himself up – to grip at the back of Ian's neck, keeping him there even as his hips rocked down again to meet him. Once, Ian's name sat on his tongue, primed to launch out of his mouth with one stronger thrust, but he bit it back, instead letting out a string of, “Fuck. Fuckfuck _fuck._ ” 

“What?” The flush covering Ian's body, the way his grip tightened and his thrusts lost rhythm – they were all signs of what he knew Mickey wanted, but tonight he wanted to hear it. “Tell me you want my cum in you and I'll – nn, _fuck_ – I'll give it to you.” He managed a slight, husky chuckle. “Say my name and I promise I won't tease you next time.”  


Ian moved his face up with the intent of staring at Mickey's expression when he finally relented (because he _was_ going to relent) but the wave of pleasure that was threatening to throw him over the edge too soon brought him closer, forehead pressed to Mickey's, open mouth rubbing against his as he moaned and gasped for the breath he couldn't quite catch. 

Mickey only relented... _sort of_.

His breath hitched in his throat at Ian's dirty talk, neck tugging backwards, away from his mouth until the back of his head was cradled by the fence. He tugged roughly at his own bottom lip, keeping himself quiet at first out of sheer stubbornness. 

But eventually, the thought of Ian dialing back the teasing was what drove him to let go, to let go and grip at Ian's short red hair and moan out the other boy's name in a way he'd kept himself from for a while. For longer than he should have, he realized, when he felt the rush of pleasure that followed, and it only intensified when he continued with a, “Fuckin' _faster_ , Ian. _Jesus Christ_.”

Hearing his name in Mickey's rough voice was all the encouragement Ian needed.  


His nails dug into Mickey's lower back as he pounded into him, ending each thrust with a rock forward on the balls of his feet, getting that slightest bit deeper and changing the angle only to pull back a moment later. Sweat slid down his neck as he pushed himself harder and harder, eager to give Mickey exactly what he asked for.  


With a moan of Mickey's name and a few more strokes, Ian came, harder than he could remember. He couldn't bring himself to keep up the movement of his hips; instead they jerked and spasmed as each rush of pleasure coursed through him and caused another spurt of cum to settle inside Mickey. 

Once Ian's movements settled, Mickey's own hips began to move again, his thighs tensing not only to squeeze more out of him but to struggle towards his own orgasm. He was nearly there, but not quite and not near enough to reach it without manual assistance.

“Jerk me off,” Mickey said, voice hoarser than it should have been. He let go of the fence with his other hand and moved his fingers to grip onto Ian's shoulders, his own still forced back against the fence. “Make me cum. Nngh, _fuck_ yeah.”

Ian groaned, moving one hand between them to wrap his callused fingers around Mickey's hard dick.  


He was softening inside him, but that didn't stop him from continuing to move, albeit far slower, especially in contrast do his hand. Nothing would have made him stop at that moment.  


Pulling back just enough to watch Mickey's face, Ian began flicking his wrist and rolling his thumb against the slit at the tip of his cock. His thumb swirled and pressed and slid down the engorged head, working with more and more insistence as Mickey's moans grew louder, body became tighter, until he finally came, shooting his load over his own shirt, the excess dribbling over Ian's hand. 

Mickey's chest heaved as Ian let him down onto his own feet, body burning and the sweat that covered him not doing anything to help. “Gonna – gonna have to thank Kash for shooting me,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the pleased smile on his mouth. “Giving you all that free time to work out and shit.”

Ian laughed through deep, quick breaths, unable to respond immediately. He felt... good. He remembered being angry, or at least frustrated just a little while ago, but now he was standing close to Mickey, seeing a satisfied smile spread across his lips, feeling their bodies desperately trying to recuperate.  


He wanted to kiss him.  


It wasn't the first time he wanted to, and Ian knew it wouldn't be the last. Despite knowing how Mickey felt about it, he was drawn forward, lips parted and trembling hands smoothing over Mickey's hips... but he stopped a few inches away, catching himself, though he didn't try to move away, either.  


“Good to know I can still wreck you,” Ian murmured, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Don't think I've ever heard you like _that_ before.” 

It was Mickey's turn to laugh, a rough and choppy thing that only made him smile wider. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he took a step back to grab for the beer, though he settled right back into where they'd been moments before. Close together. With Ian's hands on his hips. “Yeah, well, that's 'cause you've never fucked me like that before.”

Ian sucked on the webbing of skin between his thumb and forefinger, cleaning off what bits of Mickey's cum hadn't already wiped off before settling it back down on his hip, thumbs brushing the soft skin.  


“Piss me off enough and I'll do it again,” he said with a grin, taking the can out of Mickey's hand. “It's a good way to win a fight. Plus, I got to learn how easy you are to get off when I pick you up.” Ian took a drink and handed the beer back. “Don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed, either.” 

Mickey shrugged, draining what was left over before setting the can on the cement wall and smashing it down with his palm. “Just one big learning experience, right?” He glanced in Ian's direction before lifting his own hand to his mouth again to lick off what little beer had gotten onto the skin. “Maybe I woulda watched PBS as a kid if this was the kinda thing they were showing.”

Ian blushed. Despite everything they'd done together, Mickey still hadn't giving him a blowjob. Which was fine most times, but whenever the guy in front of him deign to lick his fingers, Ian sometimes had issues focusing.  


Clearing his throat, he stepped away from Mickey so he could pull his pants back up. Ian zipped his fly, but didn't bother with his belt yet. “So, uh, I've got a shift on Sunday,” he said as he was peeling off his stained shirt. Once that was off, he went searching for where ever he threw Mickey's shoes, searching under the dugout benches. “Jesus, where did I – oh, there's one.” He set it on top of the bench and kept looking for the other while Mickey found his pants.  


“Anyway,” Ian continued, crawling on his hands and knees on the cement, “Come in with me and you might get a trial shift right away.” 

Mickey was too busy staring at Ian's ass to look for his pants. Or answer. That was, until Ian twisted around and looked at him. He went into motion almost immediately, turning away to grab for his underwear and stepping into them. “Yeah, sure, but no way am I cleaning up after anybody. That's on you.”

“Look, I just want you out of trouble.” Ian grabbed hold of the other shoe and stood up, reaching for the one he had already found as well. He walked back over to Mickey and dropped them to the floor. “I really don't care if you just used the opportunity to jerk off in the bathroom, as long as you aren't violating your parole.” 

Mickey's wary expression shifted into a smirk in record time, even for him.

“You gonna help? Cause I don't want any fuckin' blisters.”

Ian smirked right back, though his never did have the heat that Mickey's did. “Maybe,” he teased, thumbing over the drying stain on Mickey's shirt. “You _are_ going to have to help clean up for that, though. Price of admission.” 

“Nothing a little toilet paper can't fix,” Mickey muttered, his voice quieter to make up for how close Ian was again. A thousand things pulled at him to get away, but he didn't move. Not for his pants. Not for his shoes. Not just to put some distance between them, either. “Unless your boss is going in there with a black light. Then we're fucked.”

“Nah, I think we're good.” Ian smiled, a hand smoothing over Mickey's hip again, as if he couldn't help but touch his skin. Maybe that was the truth. “With you around, she won't lose any inventory. We could deal drugs out back and she probably wouldn't give a shit.” 

“Well, shit, maybe she shoulda hired me months ago. Sounds like she's getting the better end of the deal.” Mickey did step away from him then, moving to grab his pants and tugging them on with only minimal effort despite the aching in his thigh muscles. ”Unless you weren't fuckin' around with me about the jerking off.”

Chuckling, Ian tossed his shirt over his shoulder and shrugged. “Guess you'll have to find out, huh?” 

Mickey shot him a narrow-eyed look before laughing to himself.

“Guess I'll have to find out.”


	7. 0.5%

It was 6:47 am and Ian wasn't nearly awake enough to fool himself into thinking Mickey was actually going to show up in 13 minutes. There were a number of reasons, most of which stemmed around the fact he was certain the bastard had a terminal case of _could not be assed_.

Still, Ian couldn't help but think that Mickey might avoid it just because he didn't want to owe him anything. Kash was gone, so the only thing he had to worry about was Linda who was... admittedly about a billion times more frightening, but she wouldn't shoot Mickey. Even if he stole, she'd rather get him sent back to juvie than shoot him.

… Probably.

In retrospect it was probably his fault. He had told Mickey to shower and leave his attitude at home, which was a surefire way to piss him off. That had always been Ian's problem – tactlessness. But if he was going to work for Linda, it was something he was going to have to get used to. She pulled even less punches than he did and had more venom than a cobra, even pregnant.

It was 7:03 when Ian heard the door open and shut.

Mickey had bags under his eyes, a cigarette in his mouth, and was clearly a bit hungover, but he was there. Unhappy, but _there_ , and that was more than Ian had ever expected.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ian deadpanned, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Wasn't sure I was going to see you... glad you came, though.”

“Fuck off,” was Mickey's only reply, mumbled just loud enough for Ian to hear him. The movement of his lips broke the ashen tip of his cigarette, and the only movement he made to fix the mess was rubbing it into a dark gray smear onto the tile. “Who goes to a fuckin' convenience store at 7 am? Nobody.”

“Stoners, burnouts, people just getting out of a party or running away from a one-nighter, tweakers, whores.” Ian shrugged. “People bring their recycling by, too.”  


Walking out from around the counter, Ian looked him up and down, mouth scrunching from one side of his face to the other until he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, rubbing it out in the change bowl. “Well, you're clean. Sort of.” He smiled, flashing a bit of teeth. “Attitude's unchanged, so let's just go with you being quiet while I lie out my ass to Linda about you.” 

Mickey was too tired to be pissed off. That much was obvious in the way his expression failed to change, even after Ian took his cigarette. If anything, this was a good sign. Mickey not having the energy to talk shit about Kash or the store or Linda herself was the best he could offer. 

“Whatever.” Licking at his lips, Mickey shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his brows low over his eyes, half-asleep even standing on his feet. “Once you convince her to hire me, can I get outta here?”

“No, she's going to want you working ASAP.” Ian sighed, shaking his head. “Look, just muscle through today, and you'll be fine. We'll close with a full register and Linda'll be too happy about that to even think about firing you.”  


His fingers twitched; he wanted to reach out and touch Mickey. An arm or his shoulder. Ian dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. “I'll let you catch a nap later.” 

Mickey let out a quiet groan before shrugging. As long as he had the job, nothing else mattered. Not if it meant he wasn't going to get shoved into some dangerous line of work or thrown back into juvie. “So it's just gonna be us two all day? You her only employee or something?”

“No, not with ROTC training. She just gives me extra shifts during the summer; she knows I need the money.” Walking past him, Ian grabbed a donut from the case by the window before heading toward the back. “Come on, let's get this over with.”  


Mickey followed, shuffling feet speaking volumes to his reluctance. Ian felt very little pity at the moment; it wasn't as if he hadn't walked hungover before. Hell, he'd done _training_ hungover and miserable, so Mickey could just suck it up.  


Still, there was some niggling part of him that made him want to turn around and tell Mickey he could come by tomorrow.  


Too late for that.  


Ian always delivered Linda her breakfast (her pregnancy was giving her trouble, and without Kash there...) so unlocking the door and just waltzing in wasn't an issue. The kids were up, making themselves breakfast.  


“Hey, guys,” Ian said with a wave. “Your mom up?”  


They both nodded, and one pointed behind the two older boys.  


“You wanna tell me what the hell this joker is doing in here?” Linda looked angry, but she was rubbing her lower back, not searching for a gun. Already going better than Ian expected.  


Ian put on his best smile and handed Linda her breakfast. “Yeah, uh...” He grabbed at Mickey's elbow and gestured to him, as if he was showing off livestock for a potential buyer. “Mickey needs a job!”  


Linda's gaze flicked between the two of them before she sat down at the dining room table, groaning as she relaxed. “Get the hell out,” she snapped. “I don't have time for this.”  


“Hear me out!” Ian leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “No one's going to steal from us if Mickey's working here. Even when he's not on, people'll know he _does_ work there. That's a great deterrent.”  


“And his stench is going to keep away customers while he steals half my inventory. No.”  


Both of them looked over at Mickey, like they were expecting him to mouth off, but he stayed quiet. Ian wasn't even sure if he was hearing the conversation.  


“He needs a job for probation,” Ian said, turning back to Linda. “I'll keep a close eye on him.”  


She chewed a swallowed a large bite of her breakfast, smacking one of her son's hands away when he tried to grab at it. “Stop it. Eat your eggs.” Linda narrowed her eyes at Ian. “And _you_. You're a kid with reasonably average intelligence, Ian. Do you really think I'm going to hire Mickey just so you can fuck him in the fridge like you did my husband? _Really?_ ”  


Ian could feel the tension in the room suddenly triple. He looked back to see Mickey's hands balled into fists, jaw tightening to the point his teeth were likely creaking.  


“It's not like that.” Ian stood upright, falling back closer to Mickey. He didn't answer too quickly for it to be considered scrambling for an excuse, nor was it too long a pause. “I owe him money. We bet on a game before he got shot, and I lost, and I don't have the money anymore. He promised he'd.. well, he'd cut _down_ the pay if I could help him get a job that won't get his arm chopped off.”  


Linda's brow furrowed briefly, but she nodded. Of course it was easier to believe _that_. “You really want to do this? He's just going to end up back in juvie. There's a revolving door in that place _reserved_ for him. And I'm sure prison's just around the corner.”  


It took all Ian had not bite back. Ultimately, it was the fact Mickey let out a quiet, relieved breath beside him that kept him in check. “It keeps me from having to ask my sister to get into our money for winter...” He dipped his chin slightly, brows slanting upward. “Please, Linda?”  


She rolled her eyes. “Oh, _fine_. Stop with the damn puppy face, you're demeaning yourself. You made your case.” Linda paused, pointing a finger at Mickey. “One mistake? And you're gone. And _Ian's_ gone, because he vouched for your sorry, delinquent ass. We clear?” 

“Yeah,” Mickey muttered before shifting his attention to the boys. All three of them stared up at him in different stages of making their breakfasts, distracted by the jerk who always stole shit from their store. Instead of making a comment, he worked his jaw and looked back at Linda. She was doing Ian a favor, not him, but he still said it. Just in case. “Thanks.”

Nodding, Ian thanked her as well and hurriedly made his way out of the apartment, Mickey close at heel, just as eager to get the hell out of there.  


Once the door was shut behind them, Ian gripped onto the railing and leaned against it, the schedule curling around the metal as his fingers tightened. “Jesus Christ,” he said after a shakey exhale, looking back at Mickey. “You okay?” 

“Nah,” Mickey replied, voice still low enough to be mistaken for a mumble in the middle of a nap. It only served to highlight his impassive tone. “She really hurt my feelings back there.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “That's not--” He sighed, standing straight again, handing Mickey the schedule before starting down the stairs. “Just... let me know if I'm not working enough for your parole. I'll pick up an extra shift or something.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure they'll be really impressed with your work ethic.” 

Mickey rubbed at the back of his head before scratching at it, taking the stairs one at a time right behind Ian. “Just tell me when to show up, and I'll show up. It's not a big deal.”

“Monday's 7 to 7. Deliveries usually come around 9am.” Once they were back in the shop, Ian immediately started looking around the shelves for anything that needed restocking, scribbling on a notepad he kept in his back pocket. “I take Tuesday off. Wednesday through Friday is 7pm to 2am. Saturday off, Sunday's 7 to 5.” Ian sighed, scratching his chin. “Just try not to show up high or drunk, that's all I ask. There's only so much I can cover for.” 

Mickey stopped following behind him, his hands jammed into the pockets of his heavy jacket again. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I've never had a job before; I don't know how this shit works.” Rolling his eyes, he trailed Ian around into another aisle, chin tucked down and eyes on the shelves instead of his back. “Show up sober. Do your job. Go home. It's not that fuckin' hard to remember.”

“Not gonna apologize for making sure you know I'm not going to take any bullshit just because we're fucking.” Ian turned his head and grinned. “You're not _that_ good.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Gallagher,” Mickey replied, still more focused on boxes of crackers than Ian. He was too worn out to think on his feet. “I _am_ that good. I just don't wanna have to find another job, alright? This'll... it'll work until I don't need it.”

“You sure? It's a cozy job.” Ian faced him, poking Mickey with the butt of his pencil to get him to move enough for him to check the candy on the lower shelves, squatting on the balls of his feet. “You work here, no one's going to question why you show up almost every day.” He peered up at him with a knowing smile. “I think you'll like working here.” 

Mickey huffed, but knew Ian was telling the truth. If he kept showing up there, people would start asking questions. And if people started asking questions, the truth might get out. So there were, in fact, worse things to deal with than screwing around at the Kash and Grab five days a week with Ian. 

“What am I even supposed to be doing?”

Ian ripped off the list and handed it up to him. “Go into the back and start freshening up the shelves.”  


When he stood back up, he was close to Mickey. Too close. They were inches apart and it actually made Ian's breath catch in his chest. “Uh. I-- I need to--” He pointed over Mickey's shoulder toward the cash register and cleared his throat.  


“Fuck. Don't say a _word_. I'm just... tired.” 

“Yeah,” Mickey muttered, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smirk. “I can't imagine why. You've still gotta be recovering from those three times we fucked.”

A flush actually appeared on Ian's cheeks, but he didn't look away. “I was doing all the work; you're fucking _right_ I'm still recovering.” He pressed his hand into the center of Mickey's chest, pushing him back. “Go start stocking the shelves, asshole. Gloat later.” 

“Nah, I think I wanna do that now,” Mickey said, laughing under his breath. Nothing woke him up like the opportunity to push someone's buttons, and this was the perfect chance to really work Ian over. “All the work? Yeah, right. You did a lot of it, but you sure as shit didn't do all of it.”

“Right, sorry. You _were_ moaning like I was paying you for it.” Ian took a breath through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest, arching a brow. “So... 0.5% of the work? Don't get me wrong, you _excel_ at taking it up the ass, but Friday night was all me. Just because I... tripped up back there, don't assume you've got the upper hand here.” 

Mickey shook his head before reaching forward and curling his fingers in the bottom of Ian's shirt, tighter and tighter until the fabric pulled around his knuckles. He glanced towards the door only once to make sure they were alone. Then his attention was focused on Ian, chin tilted up a little to look him in the eyes. “It was a hell of a lot more than 0.5%. Next time we fuck, I can show you 0.5% if that's what you're into.”

“Mickey,” he said, voice steady but low. The growing blush in his cheeks showed just how turned on he was, even if he kept himself well-controlled. “You'd be trying to not react to prove a point. And it wouldn't work. You like my dick too much. Nice try, though.” 

“I could make it work.” Mickey chewed on his bottom lip then let go of his shirt, hand hanging at his side for only a moment before it was in his jacket again. “Maybe I'll give you a whole 1% to thank you for hooking me up with this job.”

Ian let go a little breath of relief before grabbing Mickey by the shoulders and nudging him in the direction of the back room. “God, just _go!_ ” he laughed. “You're lucky you're actually worth all this trouble, Mick.” 

Mickey laughed outright at Ian's reaction as he moved in the direction he was shoved into. 

Might as well play by the rules on the first day. Might as well do his job for as long as he could. It would give him ample opportunity to torment Ian, and they could easily sneak into the back for a fuck whenever they wanted to. There were no issues with this plan.

Not yet.


End file.
